One Hundred Days
by Arcadiana
Summary: [ZK] A prison cell, two prisoners, and an impassable abyss between them. But one hundred days is a very long time. Drabble series.
1. Day 1

**One Hundred Days  
**Rating **M** _(R)  
_Day 1

* * *

The pounding, pulsing pain in his head seemed to block out the rough motion the rest of his body was being subjected to.

The beating would have been a tad bit more bearable if they had kicked his head into the iron wall before it and not after. He moaned softly as he was dragged, two guards pulling him by the arms very roughly.

The pain barely subsided, but he could now comprehend that his face was wet, and it wasn't water with which it was wet with. The pain in his head started to concentrate in an area above his right eye, and he made a conjecture that he was bleeding from a wound there.

Someone had told him that head injuries bleed profusely.

He was thrown to the cold iron floor.

He didn't need to be told that. He already knew.

The iron was rough against his chest. At some point his armor was taken from him, he was stripped down to his grey pants and boots. They probably took the armor off before they started to beat him senseless.

Another moan, a shooting pain from his bruised ribs. He tried to catch the breath that was just stolen from him.

He opened his golden eyes softly, for he did not have the strength to do otherwise. A blurred vision began to formulate around him.

A cell, complete with rusted iron bars and a porthole to the outside. That's what he's been presented with.

Shadows crept along the floor, but he neither cared nor had any resolve to completely understand what was going on.

His eyes slowly regained focus.

There were shadows that looked remarkably human-shaped in the corner. The moonlight passing outside shone softly on the figure, a heap perfectly still in the corner.

It was that girl, _you know_, the girl. That girl. The one with the pirates. The one with the Avatar.

_That girl._

He could see two orbs of blue staring back at him, but his vision clouded up. Turning his head the other direction, he gave a strangled cry of pain, and promptly passed out.

* * *

Author's Note: If you haven't noticed, this is a drabble-esque fic that takes place during season one. It's been a while since I've done anything, but now the rush of season three upon us has reawakened my interest. I'll try to update my other much-ignored stories as well.

Reviews are much appreciated.

Arcadiana  
November 18, 2007


	2. Day 2

**One Hundred Days  
**Rating **M** _(R)  
_Day 2

* * *

The cell's door opening woke him from his delve into unconsciousness, but the hard metal ringing in his ears was not enough to save him from his stupor.

There were shuffling feet, the crackling of chains, then silence.

The same noise occurred a half hour later. This time, the movement was enough to bring him to a sense of full consciousness.

He was still face down on the floor when he cracked open his golden eyes. They came into focus quickly. It was late morning, the sun streaming through the small porthole.

Slowly and unsteadily, he pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning against the iron bars for support. He rubbed his head softly, caked blood flaked off in his hand.

His breath caught in his throat, a gasp of pain escaped his lips as he clutched his side. Dark purple bruises were forming along his ribcage, ghastly against his porcelain skin.

He looked over to the corner, where the cell's other occupant lay huddled against the wall. Her blue eyes stared off into the distance, her arms wrapped around her legs as she shook.

He remembered those blue eyes, full of resolve, during the pirate fiasco. Now those blue eyes were tinged grey, a dead color of hopelessness.

A drab, shredded brown blanket was wrapped around her shoulders, but he could see her clothes were disheveled, ripped, and that bruises had darkened up and down her arms, and under her left eye.

She said nothing, she did not look at him.

Turning away, he did the same.


	3. Day 3

**One Hundred Days  
**Rating **M** _(R)  
_Day 3

* * *

The third day, a loaf of stale bread was thrown into the cell. It bounced into the no-man's-land that resided between the two prisoners.

Eons seemed to pass. The clanking of the brig door signaled that the guard had departed.

His eyes slowly rose from the bread to the other prisoner. She did not look at him, or the bread. She was in the same position; her knees huddled to her chest and her graying eyes staring into the space on the floor in front of her.

He reached over and took the bread in his cracked and blistered hands, and lifted it to his cracked and bleeding lips. It was hard, yes, but it was food. More than he had had in the last three days.

He wondered how long she had been here.

There were echoes in his mind of civility, chivalry, nobility, and honor. Protocol and what was expected of him. Yet he felt as if it had all been stripped away, beaten down along with his bruised body.

What the hell did prisoners know about chivalry?

He looked at the bread in his hands, to her, then back to the bread. Ripping it in half, he set the piece that he bitten into down next to him.

Sliding the bread across the floor, he turned back to his own piece, bringing it to his lips again.

The hardened chunk of bread hit her side softly. She didn't move. He was starting to wonder if she was still alive when she lowered one hand and picked the piece up.

Her eyes never wavered from their stare into space.

She lifted the piece of bread to her mouth, bit a piece, and chewed. He noticed she chewed slowly, like someone who was starving rather than going hungry.

The silence between them was louder than any battle he had ever fought in. Finishing his bread, he turned to lie down again.

A strangled noise escaped from her throat. He turned back, looking at her with his golden eyes.

His eyes did not meet hers; her graying ones did not meet his.

She put her face into her hands and began to cry.

He turned around, lay down, and said nothing.

There was nothing to say.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Please, if you favorite this or alert this, leave a review. It's bittersweet to see that this story has more alerts than reviews.

Reviews keep me going, and each one matters to me.

Arcadiana


	4. Day 4

**One Hundred Days  
**Rating **M** _(R)  
_Day 4

* * *

The dawn broke.

Sometime during the night the reverberations from the ship's engines had ceased. The movement over waves had stopped.

He was sure she knew.

The first rays of the dawn peaked through the porthole. He breathed out, his breath visible as it escaped his lips.

They came very early. Stuck-up guardsmen who had chips on their shoulders the collective size of the inheritance he was set to receive.

She didn't fight back when they yanked her up. She made no noise as she was dragged out of the cell.

Part of him thought that she didn't have the strength to. Part of him thought she didn't have the resolve.

Or maybe she didn't care. Maybe she was just like him and made it easy for them to drag her along. That's what happened when they came for him.

At this point, he just didn't care.

He remembers a few taunts, then another beating. A kick to the head made these memories fuzzy.

He remembers being dragged out of the cell, up stairs, onto deck, and down the gangplank.

He remembers hitting the ground hard, the taste of dirt choking and blinding him.

He remembers her blue-grey eyes, staring off into the distance. The chains that bound them both crackled with their movement.

She turned to him, looking him straight in the eye for the first time in this ordeal.

A swath of purple and yellow swept out from underneath one eye, contrasting against her already dark skin. He knew that it was a serious blow to show up on her copper skin. Unlike the bruises that frequented his porcelain skin.

A trail of blood leaked from her graying eyes.

He did not know if she bled tears or cried blood. Both would be believable. But that hard, cold glare that came from those eyes told him both answers were wrong.

The chains were yanked, and both prisoners slammed down to the ground.

"Welcome to the Pohuai Fortress. The Admiral Zhao will personally see to his distinguished guests."


	5. Day 5

**One Hundred Days  
**Rating **M** _(R)  
_Day 5

* * *

"Your majesty."

He sat in the chair, his hands chained behind him. Staring down at the table, he did not honor his interrogator with a response.

"Come now, Prince Zuko. Is this anyway to treat an old _friend?_"

Zuko looked up. His eyes glared venom.

"We were never friends."

A fist slammed across his face.

"That hurts me, your highness."

Zuko spat, glaring up at his captor. The older man scowled slightly before a smirk graced his features again.

"Zhao, you're going to pay for this."

Zhao kicked Zuko's chair over, and he fell to the ground roughly. He grunted, refusing to give Zhao anymore pleasure than he was already receiving.

Yanking his ponytail, Zhao pulled Zuko up to face him.

"You miserable little shit. I know it was you underneath that stupid mask. That's why I went to the trouble of blowing up that pretty little ship of yours and fished you out of the water."

Zuko stayed silent.

"Suit yourself."

Zhao shrugged. He kicked Zuko in the abdomen, hard. He picked him up and threw him against the wall, a tight fist at his neck.

Zuko glared back. Zhao increased the pressure on his neck, but Zuko did not cry out.

Zhao frowned. He dropped Zuko, who fell to the floor and coughed a bit as he caught his breath.

"It's not over, Prince Zuko."

Zuko glared up at him. A single second passed before Zuko growled loudly and blew fire at Zhao's face. He easily deflected it, of course, but the act of disobedience was clear.

Zhao yanked Zuko up roughly by his ponytail until their eyes were even, at full height.

"No, Zuko. You're going to pay. Dearly."

Zuko wished it all would go black from there. But it didn't. He wished and he prayed to Agni that the gods would be merciful and knock him out.

But mercy is only reserved for the weak. The strong have to endure.

And endure he did. Right up until he was tossed bleeding into his new cell. Right up until she looked at him with those eyes and looked away again.

She guiltily sighed. He could have sworn those eyes had a glint of blue in them.

Somewhere in that sea of grey had to be the blue. _Somewhere, somewhere._

She moved toward him, and with a touch only a healer could possess, wiped clear his forehead of blood.

He was right, those eyes were blue.

Then, and only then, did he pass out.


	6. Day 6

**One Hundred Days  
**Rating **M** _(R)  
_Day 6

* * *

He dreamt of home. He dreamt of warm summer days and cool winter rains. He dreamt of red and gold and Mother's soft touch on his forehead.

He dreamt of Father's stern look and strong voice. He dreamt of how it used to be.

He dreamt of Ember Island and Azula when she was young and not so vengeful.

He dreamt of cousin Lu Ten and his piggy-back rides before he went to war.

He dreamt of when Uncle came back.

He dreamt of the War Room, he dreamt of Agni Kai.

Then he woke up, shaking and out of breath.

He woke up to blue; _they are blue, _eyes hovering over him. He blinked as she passed a hand over his forehead softly, wiping the perspiration from his brow.

Her touch was cool, like a fresh breeze in the summertime. Of course, waterbenders are naturally cool. Like lake or the ocean on a hot day.

Comforting.

She was silent, somber. Her eyes were flat, so flat, _like the ocean_, they held no concern or pity or even spite.

He imagined a time where those eyes were filled with a hate and a determination and a fear and an anger.

She moved back to her corner of the cell as he struggled to sit up.

Looking back to her, Zuko almost felt like saying _something_. Thank you? Are you alright? Escape?

She held her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

_Something._

Burying her face into her knees, Katara began to weep.

Zuko opened his mouth, but no words came out. He sighed and sat against the bars again.

Almost, but not quite.


	7. Day 7

To be quite honest with you, I understand your disappointment in the lack of updates to this and some of my other stories. But to continue being honest, I am not the fifteen year old kid who had the time to write constantly when I was doing the Infinity Legend. I have a life, one that is filled with college applications and financial aid and jobs and schoolwork and everything else that has to fit in an eighteen year old's normal routine. For those of you who have been patient, you have my thanks.

* * *

**One Hundred Days  
**Rating **M** _(R)  
_Day 7

* * *

One week. Seven days. One hundred sixty eight hours.

Five beatings. Four meals.

Too many moments. Too many tears shed and breaths taken.

Zuko had arisen with the sun, as was his nature. For being so beaten down, the sunlight through the small window was warm on his skin.

He felt the slightest bit stronger.

Katara slept in her corner, he had noted that she wasn't much of an early riser.

It was her nature, of course. She was the dark moon-child.

She was still asleep when the guards came for her, yanking her up and out of her safe dream world.

He could have sworn he saw a glint of blue. Blue fear. Blue despair.

Maybe that was the reason he shot up and lunged at the guard. The feeling in her eyes, the sense that she was _alive._

One guard's helmet smacked against the metal bars of the cell as Zuko's fist slammed at his face. The other, unfortunately, was aware of the Prince's attack.

The hard boot of the guard slammed into Zuko's sternum, sending him into the wall forcefully.

"Stop. Stop it please."

He could hear her pleading. He could hear her voice cracking. He could hear her speak. He hadn't heard her speak in seven days. One week. One hundred sixty eight hours.

"Leave him alone, please, please just leave him alone."

Zuko looked up in surprise at Katara.

The guard had a tight lock on her neck, but she turned to look at him as she was dragged out of the cell.

Katara's eyes were a vibrant blue. They showed fear and despair and pain and everything Zuko was sure died within her.

He looked down as the door was shut again.

She did not come back that night.

But all of a sudden all he wanted was to see her again.

Because she was alive. For the first time in seven days. One week. One hundred sixty eight hours.

Alive. _She was alive._

And somehow, that meant that he was alive as well.


	8. Day 8

**One Hundred Days  
**Rating **M** _(R)  
_Day 8

* * *

By now, she's gotten used to the bruises and the blows and the flames licking at her dark copper skin.

Solitary confinement, on the other hand, was something she feared, something she hated.

She sat, against the iron wall of the cell, dripping in sweat. Her breath was labored, so painful against her chest.

That Zhao sure did his research.

Katara wearily clawed at the skin of her neck, her eyes rolling back as she gasped for air. Her messy ponytail clung to her skin; sweat oozed from her pores.

The air was stifling hot, dry as a desert.

Dehydrating a Waterbender. Surely, surely, Zhao had stooped to a new low. She had heard rumors of criminal Firebenders being locked in an ice chamber, and that was supposed to be torture for them as well.

Katara crawled toward the cell door in a dizzy haze, feeling flushed and semi-conscious. She stretched out her arm, falling to the floor in a near faint, her head facedown.

Two hands gripped the prison bars, two porcelain hands connected to bruised arms that led to a scarred face that stared with two golden eyes a look of horror. Astonishment. They were capable of crimes like this? Torture like this?

They? Wasn't it _we_?

A noise escaped his mouth, an indescribable cry of anger mixed with pity and a little bit of self-condemnation.

She looked up, her whole body shaking as her graying eyes went in and out of focus. A trail of water crossed her cheek, and Zuko knew it wasn't sweat.

He fell to his knees and reached into the cell. He reached for her hand, so close, so very close to her shaking, dehydrated, dying body.

"Time's up."

He was pulled away harshly; yelling, cursing, and kicking. They commenced in another beating as she half-cried, half-whispered his name.

"Zu…ko…"

He heard her, over the guards' taunts and yells. And he let them beat him, just so that she would be left alone.

No wonder Katara was so obsessed with hope. Hope this, hope that.

Maybe some of her hope radiated to him. Maybe, just maybe, he would be strong for her.

At least until they escaped.

"Time for the pretty girl to meet the Admiral." A guard said as they opened her cell and dragged her out in front of the beaten Zuko.

Or maybe at least until they died. That would be merciful.

Too merciful.


	9. Day 9

**One Hundred Days  
**Rating **M** _(R)  
_Day 9

He knew he had to do something. This was so wrong, so very wrong. The Avatar's waterbender was so full of life, had such a fighting spirit…

But for now, she lay on the cold metal floor, her eyes unfocused, and her world distraught.

She had stopped crying some time ago. After they had brought her back from 'interrogation' – that's what they called it. It made Zuko sick.

"We have to find a way out of here."

A half-conscious nod, a small moan in agreement. Zuko wiped his forehead with his arm, looking around the cell, searching for an escape, searching for something to say.

"Hey now.." He reached across the floor, scooting ever so slightly toward the beaten shape of his enemy. "C'mon, I need your help for this."

False encouragement seemed only to go so far. She shivered, still staring straight ahead. Zuko cringed. He would definitely need her to get out. He could never do it alone.

Scratching the back of his head, a bit unsure, he moved slightly closer to her. Reaching his hand out, he paused, not knowing what to do, what to say.

"Katara."

That finally got her attention. Her grey blue eyes slowly met his golden gaze.

"Please. I need your help."

If humility was a form of redemption, Zuko felt as if all his past transgressions should be forgiven by this point. So what, he tied her up a while ago. Didn't hurt her that bad.

Here he was, Prince of the Fire Nation, beaten, broken, and imprisoned. Basically prostrating himself to an equally broken former enemy of his.

"Yes, Zuko." A soft whisper, voice cracking, and maybe a hint of blue in those icy eyes.

Former enemy.


End file.
